


The Recognition Scene

by David_Dave_Davey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complicated and unhealthy relationships, M/M, No beta we die like archival assistants, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Trigger warnings in each chapter, ambiguous ending, bc u know i love em!, but not really, debatably a fix-it fic?, its a mess, road trip fic, t4t, trans gerry keay, written by transmasc author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28681065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/David_Dave_Davey/pseuds/David_Dave_Davey
Summary: “Stop.” Gerard knew he was going to regret this, “Don’t burn it. I’ll help you stop the Unknowing, then you burn my page.”-------After stealing Gerry’s page from the hunters, Gerry agrees to help Jon stop the Unknowing, but they have to get back to England first. A road trip involving stolen cars, egg salad, the Mountain Goats, hotel rooms with only one bed, trauma, and complicated feelings about gender awaits.
Relationships: Gerard Keay & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 13
Kudos: 61





	1. CHICAGO- Lion’s Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> TW for this chapter  
> -Minor character death  
> -reverences to canonical assisted suicide  
> -suicidal thoughts

The king of the jungle  
Was asleep in his car  
When your chances fall in your lap like that  
You've got to recognize them for what they really are

Nobody in this house  
Wants to own up to the truth  
I crawl in shotgun and reach into his mouth  
And grab hold of one long, sharp tooth

And hold on  
For dear life, I hold on

Well, of course he wakes up  
His paw hits the horn  
I am going to regret  
The day that I was born

And then Mom rushes out to the driveway  
My sister too  
Everyone's screaming  
I am dreaming of you

I hold on  
For dear life, I hold on

And my arms get sore  
And my palms start to sweat  
And the tears roll down my face  
'Till my cheeks are hot and red and soaking wet

In come the cops  
They blowtorch the doors  
I start wailing  
The lion roars

There's no good way to end this  
Anyone can see  
There's this great big you  
And little old me

And we hold on  
For dear life, we hold on  
We hold on

-The Lion's Teeth

\-------

Jon ripped Gerard’s page out, quickly, trying to silence the sound of the removal.

“Thank you.” Gerard said.

“Well, you’ve probably killed me.”

“Dying isn’t so bad, it’s staying dead that sucks.”

“Well, these nuggets of wisdom are certainly worth it.”

“Relax, they won’t notice.”

Jon pulled his lighter out of the back pocket of his beaten jacket. Flicked it on with one smooth motion of his thumb. The fire sat at the tip of the lighter, conical and nearly perfect. Idealized reds and oranges, casting Jon’s fingers in warm light too soft for an assisted suicide. It was a gentleness Jon neither asked for nor deserved.

“So,” Gerard asked, prying Jon’s eyes from the flame, “You’ve obviously got questions.”

Jon nodded, “Many, but…”

“But?”

“Where do I even begin?” Jon chuckled, pained and short.

They both faded into silence, wishing the lighter cracked or popped.

“What was Gertrude, in the end?” He spit out, rushed and fast in a way they both thought impossible under the leaden silence that blanketed the moment prior.

“What do you mean?”

“Did- did she need statements? Did she Know without thinking, like it was boring into her skull?” Jon stilled for a moment, but before silence could rake its hands over them, he spoke up again, “Was she a monster?”

Gerard didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry,” Jon filled in, “I- that was rushed. We should- I should just burn your page now, not drag it out.”

Jon sucked in a breath as he held the page above the flame. The slightest twitch of his hand, and Gerard Keay would burn. 

All the knowledge he has, lost, obliterated in the wind, a part of his heart whispered. Jon crushes the little voice, the whisper of everything he is trying not to be, the monster he is trying not to become. 

The hunters- Julia and Trevor, they were still people, were out. They’d be gone for a while, Jon and Gerard both knew it. This burning, this release, this escape, this death was the only thing that would end Gerard’s suffering. It would hurt, Jon would suffer, but he would burn the page. They both knew it.

Gerard floats above the page, and lets out a slow breath, unsteady and tired. He understands that this is his end. The end he has wanted and waited for so long. No more entities, no more apocalypses, no more Archivist.

“Stop.” Gerard knew he was going to regret this, “Don’t burn it. I’ll help you stop the Unknowing, then you burn my page.”

Jon’s eyes shot up to meet Gerard’s, “Why?”

Gerard didn’t answer, instead saying, “We’ll need to get out of here without Julia or Treavor noticing us”

“H-how? Wait, I’m serious about the change of heart.”

“Look, they’re out right now, if we run soon we could get a good lead on them. They’re hunters so we're unlikely to completely lose them, but we’ll need the ground if we want any chance of escaping.”

“Wha- I- well, alright, I suppose.”

\-------

Jon gathered all his clothes into a bundle, using a flannel to tie up his things and grabbed an old map from the back of the van.

He just needed to get out, get far enough away to lose Julia and Treavor. He’d never been the most athletic, but the hunters should be far enough away he could make a break for it. 

He slid out of the van, flinching at a twig as it snapped underfoot. Jon swore he heard footsteps. Still, he resisted the urge to run, instead choosing to walk, trying to save as much stamina as he could. He took a moment to adjust his hold on the makeshift bag and to dig out Gerard’s page, clutching it in the opposite hand.

\-------

Jon swore he heard footsteps.

He’d only been walking for a few minutes, it couldn’t have been long. His nerves began to shake, sweat beading on the back of his neck. The forest was just the same as it was next to the van. Same towering trees, same dense underbrush. 

Same distant, but ever approaching footsteps.

Jon broke out into a sprint, the forest blurring as he surged forward.

The footsteps grew louder, each one like thunder. Jon realized just how badly he had messed up, how he might now die here, challenging a creature of the Hunt to a race.

In seconds, Trevor revealed himself. He was mere feet behind Jon, legs that were inhumanly powerful pushing him forward, ever forward, towards his prey

Jon stumbled and dropped his makeshift bag, spilling its guts across the forest floor.

Trevor dropped to a crouch, muscles tensing, ready to pounce. Jon stumbled backwards, nearly getting caught on a branch. His hand tightened around Gerard’s page.

In a flash, Trevor sprung, colliding with Jon and sending them sprawling to the floor. Jon’s head slammed against the forest floor as Trevor’s nails bit into Jon’s skin, digging and tearing at flesh and skin. His breath was toxic, hot and damp on Jon’s face. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Trevor barked out, tone like nails on a chalkboard. 

Jon stuttered for barely a second before Trevor grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him into the ground, his head ringing and vision swimming.

“Destroying our monster manual, trashing our van, running off.” With every thing he listed, Trevor lifted Jon and slammed his skull into the forest floor. “I’m going to kill you. We’re going to kill you and make you suffer for the shit you pulled.”

Jon groaned, the weight of the world collapsing on his shoulders. Years of terror and suffering and fear pressing his chest down, the emotional weight combining with Trevor’s to make breathing a struggle. 

He bared her teeth and pulled Jon up by his collar, dragging him across the ground, filling his hair with sticks and scraping his skin against the dirt.

“Why?” Jon asked, croaking out to no one. Why was he here, why was he going to be killed, why was he being trapped in this hell, why was this his life? Was it his fault? Did he deserve to be here?

Trevor grunted, stopping for a moment to pull Jon up to eye level. “What did you say?”

Jon shaked, “I-I”

“What did you say!” He shouted.

“I said **why!** ”

In an instant, Trevor dropped Jon, his lips began to thrash, trying to articulate answers he could not know. He clutched his throat, spitting syllables and hacking up words. Jon scrambled backwards, clutching Gerard’s page to his chest. Trevor dropped to his knees, pounding the ground.

Jon pushed himself further backwards, away from Trevor’s thrashing body. Trevor’s head snapped up, and Jon saw the terror in his eyes, raw and pure. He threw himself at Jon, falling short and slumping to the ground.

Shoving himself off the ground, Jon took a second to look at Trevor’s still form before darting off into the woods.

Jon ran as fast as he could, pushing his legs until his muscles screamed and his breath came in gasps. Jon saw the hunter’s van behind a few trees. He glanced around and when he failed to see Julia around, he made a break for the van. 

He slammed the door closed behind him, realizing quickly that the keys, thank God, were left in the ignition. He scrambled to twist the key and floored the gas pedal. 

The car took off like a shot, Jon only barely avoided slamming into a tree as they headed off. In the rearview mirror, he could see Julia, shouting as the van flew across the forest floor. 

Jon looked around, panicked, trying to find a road or landmark he could use to navigate before he heard what was unmistakably a gunshot behind him. His head whipped around, only to see the hole that Julia had just shot into the van. Shit, he thought, she’s armed.

“Oh shit, she’s armed.”

Jon screamed and flailed, whipping around to see Gerard’s apparition sitting in the seat next to him.

“Wha-!?”

“Drive, Jon!” 

Jon’s hands gripped the steering wheel again. He twisted, throwing the van to the left as Julia unloaded three more shots into the car.

“There, Jon, in the distance, I think it's a road!” Gerard exclaimed, pointing a ghostly hand towards the vague suggestion of a road. 

The van burst onto the road, nearly colliding with another car. Jon spun the wheel as the other car’s horn screamed at them. Jon righted the car, and shot down the road, trying to escape Julia.

\-------

“Jon.”

Jon’s hands held tight on the wheel.

“Jon.”

The windows shook, the glass trembling as the van crossed rough roads.

“Jon.”

The leather seats were worn and cracked, comfortable in a way that evoked the memory of the people who wore the leather down. Jon had killed one of those people.

“Jon.”

Jon had killed a man.

“Jon!” 

Jon startled, snapping to Gerard for a second before his eyes laser focused on the road again.

“Y-yes?”

“You’re driving on the wrong side of the road.”

Jon shook his head, realizing he was driving on the left side of the road.

“Oh, thank you.” Jon said, quickly righting the error, silently thanking that there was no one else on the road.

\-------

The speedometer hit ninety before Gerard spoke up. “I really didn’t take you for the speeding type.”

Jon’s eyes didn’t leave the road, “This is insane.”

“I agree, I read you as sweater vests, tea, and going at least five miles below the speed limit.”

“I killed a man, Gerard!” Fear and panic creeping into Jon’s tone.

Jon’s breath rattled with the steady thump of tires across the road.

“I killed a man, and evil gods are real, and I’m becoming something inhuman, and the world is ending! The world is going to end if we don’t stop it.” Jon’s head hit the steering wheel, and he pressed the pedal into the floor, grinding his foot into it, feeling the van jump under him. “Two years ago my biggest problem was trying to talk my landlord into letting me get a cat.”

Jon lifted his head and let it hit the back of the headrest, eyes closed. Gerard kept his eyes on the road. They both knew how easy it would be for Jon to keep his foot pressed to the gas, to accelerate until the shitty old van couldn't go any faster, to keep eyes screwed shut, to keep going until the road swerved. Jon could slam into a tree going one hundred twenty something miles per hour and be done. No more guilt, no more Entities, no more Unknowing.

“Cops will still give you a ticket for going, fuck, ninety eight in a sixty.” Gerard said.

Jon laughed, loud and pained, and did what seemed impossible, peeling his foot off the acceleration, letting the car come to a stop. He looked at Gerard as laughter, wet and anxious, bubbled from the back of his throat and rolled across his tongue. Gerard looked back at Jon, and saw the fear-pain-grief-awe-inevitability of it all in his eyes, and found a similar laugh boiling in himself.

They might have sat there for five minutes, or it may have been hours, sharing their twin tragedies. Grief and agony and fear and hopelessness. The world was so massive, so terrifying, and neither of them had anything, anything but the other person in this car. Two ships without moorings, tied to nothing but each other and left adrift in a sprawling storm.

Hysterical laughter was quickly mixed with heavying, messy sobs. They dissolved into a mess of fat tears and snot, of loud cries and choked giggles.

“So,” Jon said, wiping his eyes between heaving laughter, “do you think the cops will give us trouble for stopping on the side of the road?”

“I haven’t seen any cops, no anyone else, for miles. But still, you should prepare an excuse for why you have a ghost in the car.”

“I have a ghost in the car. Good Lord, I have a fucking ghost in the car.” 

Jon tried to start the car several times, getting barely a few feet before breaking down into crying-laughing again, eyes too full of tears to see the road.

\-------

Jon looked sick as they barrelled down the road.

“So,” Gerard said, looking at the trees that were only marginally less green than the Archivist next to him, “What is the plan?”

“Plan?” Jon responded, shoulders hunched and knuckles white.

“Yeah, don’t you have some big Archivist plan? How we’re going to get Julia off our trail? How we’re going to get back to London? How we’re supposed to end the Unknowing?”

“I thought you knew how to do-” Jon stammered “to do all of that!”

The van was eerily silent as both Jon and Gerard realized that neither of them knew what they were doing. That for all the statements and stories Jon had heard, Gerard Keay was a man, a falibal man, not the guru, not the all knowledgeable hero. For all Gerard remembered of his predecessor, all the great deeds and averted apocalypses, Jon was a man, a man who was nothing like the stoic Gertrude Robbinson.

“Well,” Jon started, before stumbling to a stop.

“Well indeed,” Gerard agreed. “We need to get to an airport first right?”

“Yes,” Jon quickly agreed, “They mentioned they can’t board planes so we just need to get to our flight and we’ll be out.”

“Good, there should be an airport right in Chicago, it’s a half hour drive.”

Jon pursed his lips and scrunched up his nose as if he had eaten a lemon.

“Yes, well, you see…”

“Oh God.”

“I don’t, well, have any money for another plane ticket.”

“You only need the one. I’ll just be in my page.”

“No, I mean, I don’t have the money to buy any new plane tickets. I only have the one, the two way ticket I used to get here.”

“And you don’t have any Institute funds to use?”

“No, well, Elias had us take on some budget cuts and, well, Library needed some new shelves that were quite expensive, and Artifact Storage needed several new hired after the latest incident and-”

“So we really have to drive all the way to, where did you come in?”

“BWI.”

“Where?”

“Baltimore.”

“Drive all the way to Baltimore, to catch the only flight available, to get away from the, I cannot stress this enough, the murderous, supernatural woman trailing us, in order to get back to London where we have to stop an army of evil clowns from ending the world?”

Jon’s shoulders slumped, feeling the weight of everything collapse onto his back.

“Yes.”

“Alright” Gerard responded.

“Alright?”

“Alright, bring it on! Let’s do this. I’ve always wanted to go on a murder roadtrip. Thelma and Louise style.”

The side of his mouth sprung up into an almost smile. 

“Alright.”


	2. INDIANA- Answering the Phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard had no idea what to say. He knew what Gertrude would have done, she would have shot Jon, ended him before he lost himself to avatardom. Jon was, however unwittingly, becoming much like the monsters that were attempting to end the world. He would lose himself to the Eye, to hunger in due time and Gerard would hate to see it.
> 
> “I mean, at least you’re trying. Trying to be better, to be more, to subvert it all.”
> 
> “Is it enough, Gerard?”
> 
> “Is anything?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter  
> -Jon typical self hatred  
> -light mention of canonical assisted suicide (burning Gerry's page)  
> -short mention of disordered eating (Jon considers avoiding eating to punish/control his monstrous urges)  
> -vomit

Maybe I didn't get enough milk when I was a baby  
Maybe I never learned the value of a penny  
Maybe I listened to that first Black Sabbath album, the one with the witch on the front, one time too many

But I think something wrong with me  
I think something's wrong with me  
I think something's glued down wrong permanently  
Maybe it's the things I never learned how to do  
Maybe it's the things I learned to do real well  
Maybe it's the Irish whiskey that I like to drink  
Maybe it's the California zinfandel  
But I think something's wrong with me  
I think something's glued down wrong, maybe permanently

I'm gonna tell you once, you gotta listen  
You came here for comfort, you came to the wrong place  
I got a strong stomach and a murmur in my heart  
I got a tremor in my hand, muscle twitches in my face

And I think something's wrong with me  
I think something's snapped on wrong, maybe permanently  
Yeah!

-Answering the Phone

\-------

“You know, after you get past the serial killing woman chasing us down and the ever imminent threat of the world ending, this is all pretty boring.” Gerard said, more to the air in the open car then to anyone in particular.

Jon looked at Gerard very quickly, before focusing his eyes on the empty road.

“You know we left Chicago about three hours ago? I hardly noticed.” He continued.

Gerard leaned back, as far back in the stiff seat as he could. “We were already in the suburbs when we got out, and the suburbs just blended seamlessly into this.” He gestured to the endless and empty fields around them.

Jon nodded, half listing.

“I almost like Indiana, I like this stretch of America in general, it's so boring and empty it’s almost as if nothing supernatural happens here. Nothing more than normal corn and normal people.”

\-------

“Hey, Jon, can you open the map for me? I want to see how much further we have to go.”

“Oh, yes, of course, let me just…”

Jon rifled through the glove compartment for several minutes before pausing and moving to search through the rest of the car.

“Do we… not have a map?”

“I- No, we do not apparently.”

Gerard snorted, quieted for a second, before breaking out into laughter.

“How! Have we just been driving anywhere? What if we’re driving away from Baltimore? We haven’t stopped and thought about directions at all!”

Half hysterical giggles grew at the back of Jon’s throat before escaping as he thought about it all.

“No, I suppose I just Knew! Where we were going, what turns to take.”

“So the Eye, the massive, eldritch God of voyeurism, has been giving us directions for our road trip?”

“Yes! I suppose it has!”

Nothing about anything was especially funny, not with the Unknowing looming and death at every corner, and yet, Gerry and Jon couldn’t stop until they’d laughed themselves to tears.

\-------

“Do you think what we’re doing is right?”

“I mean, stopping the end of the world has to be some kind of noble pursuit.”

“Fair, do you think that it, well, does it make us good people?”

The interior of the car fell into silence. Either one of them could have made a joke then, said something stupid and lightened the mood. Instead, they let the air rest heavy on them, a weighted blanket of questions they lacked answers to and answers they would both hate.

“I suppose it does, although I’ll admit I’ve never quite cared about the world at large in all of this.”

“How so?”

“Well, before it was all about doing it because it was right in the vague sense of it. It made me feel free to make my own choices, and many of those choices ended with me blowing things up. I mean, I guess you could say I did it for others, but really, it was all for me.”

“What about now? Does all of this make you still feel free?”

“No. It really doesn’t. Honestly, even if the Unknowing happens, I’ll still be a book. It affects me remarkably little.”

“So why not just let me burn your page?”

Gerard licked his lips.

“Why ask if this makes us good people? You know that saving the world is almost a cartoonishly good deed, so why ask?”

Jon took a steep, quick breath.

“I fear there’s no good left in me. That I’m, I’m a monster, a creature. That I am no longer the person I was.”

The car rolled down the road, the steady sixty miles per hour they’d been moving at for hours. Covering ground they’d never passed over before and never would again. Neither Jon nor Gerry had ever seen this stretch of road, and they would never have the chance to do so again. The road itself was a monument to impermanence, to friendships that fell apart, to strangers falling into something else. 

“I’m not the same person either. I mean, I’m a book now. Why does it matter?”

“Hm?”

“If we’re good or bad, why does it matter? The world is filled with dark gods and cultists and people attempting to end the world. Why does it matter?”

“How can you say that? How does it not matter? We have to separate ourselves from the dark gods and cultists and the like!”

“Why do you need to constantly define yourself as separate from avatars and the like? Isn’t it enough to know we’re different?”

“I just, I don’t know if I am different. I killed a man, I thirst for the trauma of the people around me, I-I starve for statements.”

“You’re not human, and you feel as if you’re no better than the monsters we’re trying to stop.” Gerard stated.

Jon’s shoulders sagged.

“Yes, I... yes.”

Gerard had no idea what to say. He knew what Gertrude would have done, she would have shot Jon, ended him before he lost himself to avatardom. Jon was, however unwittingly, becoming much like the monsters that were attempting to end the world. He would lose himself to the Eye, to hunger in due time and Gerard would hate to see it.

“I mean, at least you’re trying. Trying to be better, to be more, to subvert it all.”

“Is it enough, Gerard?”

“Is anything?”

\-------

“Have you eaten at all since we left?”

Jon shook his head. “I don’t need to eat nearly as much as I used to. After...” Jon trailed off, eyes drifting across the empty road, “I _ate_ Treavor I’ve been feeling....” 

“Better?”

Jon nodded once, a hard, sharp motion. Bile coated the inside of his mouth. He felt like a monster, he knew he was a monster. Everything around him reminded him constantly of the man who he killed. 

Yet, Jon had never felt better. He felt vital and alive in a way he hadn’t felt since he accidentally did methamphetamines in Uni. He was wild with life. 

His eyebrows pressed downward and his shoulders hunched.

Gerard ran a hand through his hair, letting a breath he did not need to take escape his lips.

“Yeah.”

Jon licked his lips, and Gerard scratched at nonexistent stubble.

Gerard continued, “You should stop at the next gas station.”

Jon glanced to the gas tank, halfway full. “Alright.”

“I also think you should grab something to eat.”

“I already said I don’t-”

“I’m saying you should. Even if you don’t feel you have to. It’s grounding, makes you feel, well, like a person.” A beat of silence passed. “I miss it.”

Jon snorted, “You want me to eat for you?”

Gerard shrugged, “If that’s how you’d like to phrase it.”

\-------

Jon quickly found that Gerard was absolutely right about Indiana, it was painfully empty. Trees, just like the trees in every other state Jon had seen, sprawling fields of homogeneous crops, bisected by one sprawling road. Coming from places remarkably similar and headed towards much of the same.

Gerard’s coat rustled as he shifted, resting his head against the window.

Jon’s brow furrowed. 

Gerard glanced back at him. “Something is on your mind. What?”

“It’s morbid.” Jon said, waving his hand in the air, attempting to disperse the thought.

“I’m goth,” Gerard smirked, “I do morbid. Hit me with your worst.”

“It’s insensitive.” Jon continued.

Gerard raised an eyebrow.

“Alright,” Jon relented, “I just need to know, did you die in the coat? Is that why it’s still on you? Why does it make noise when you move? It has no reason to do that, it doesn’t physically exist. Why?”

Gerard’s laugh was more a bark than anything else.

“I have no idea!” He said.

Jon made an indignant, offended sound. “Nothing? No idea at all?”

“Nope.”

“That’s- that’s so unsatisfying!”

Gerard began to laugh again.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Jon exclaims. “You should at least have the right to know how-how undeath works!”

“ _You_ want to know how undeath works.”

“I do!” 

Gerard’s laughter grew rambunctious as Jon continued to attempt to justify his need to know. Why Gerard should want to know how the undead physics works. Why he should want to know how and why!

\-------

The first gas station Jon saw, he pulled up and into. His eyes met Gerard's as turned off the car and pushed himself up and out of the car, a silent plea to just let him fill the gas tank and leave. Gerard's eyes were hard set. Jon was going to go in and get something to eat.

Jon kept his eyes glued to the asphalt, and then to the chipping linoleum as he entered the store. He marched, legs firm and footfalls steady, heading towards the little area of premade sandwiches and month old crackers. A spread of mediocre food, taste sterile and cold, as if the food itself was distant, removed from physicality. 

Jon grabbed an egg salad sandwich. Jon hated egg salad.

He turned, swift on his heels, moving quickly up to the cash register. Something tugged at the insides of Jon’s chest, something hungry and aggressive. His eyes met the station attendant. 

They had had a statement. A story. Right there, inches away from his face, so intimately close, he could have dug in, ripped it out of their throat, pulled it from their mind, splatter their trauma across the store.

Jon’s hand shook, so hard he was nearly unable to grab the bills from the wallet he held. 

It had been Treavor’s wallet before Jon killed him.

They had barely announced the total before Jon shoved several crumpled bills across the counter, whipping around and walking out of the store as fast as he could. He didn’t care if he overpaid or underpaid. That gas station attendant would live, he would not fall prey to Jon’s cruelty, to his monstrous desires. They would not be Jon’s victim.

Jon tossed the sandwich into the seat next to him and drove out.

\-------

“Are you going to eat the sandwich?” It was only half a question as Gerard asked it. Jon could practically hear him draw his sword, preparing for a verbal sparing match to convince Jon to eat the egg salad sandwich that stared him down from the passenger seat.

“Oh, yes.” Jon said, too tired to fight like he feels he should. On a base level, a part of him that has been quiet for decades sings. He needs to get control, he needs to assert himself, he needs to stay hungry. Jon wanted to give in, but Gerard was here and Jon was still shaking from trying to avoid destroying the convince store worker's mind. He quickly leaned over and grabbed the sandwich, peeling it open with one hand and throwing it down his throat as fast as he could, keeping his eyes on the road, trying not to think about egg salad or sandwiches or the act of consumption.

After he finished, Jon’s shoulders slumped and asked, “Did Gertrude ever feel the need to take things from people?”

“How so?”

“Did-did she ever want to take live statements, to _take_ them from living people?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Jon pressed the gas to the floor of the car.

\-------

Jon’s eyes were hazy and his hands shook. Gerard said nothing, he would speak up in a few minutes, give Jon a moment to decompress.

Without warning, Jon jerked the car to the side of the road, slamming on the breaks. Gerard exclaimed in shock as Jon’s hands scrambled on the door handle. He threw it open, tumbling out and pulling himself to the side of the road to dry heave until the half digested remnants of the egg salad sandwich across the ground.

He bent over, barely holding himself up, panting over the regurgitated remnants of his stomach. A horrible Rorschach test splattered all over the road. Jon looked away quickly, unwilling to think of what he’d see.

Jon wanted to be alone. He wanted to give in, to never get up again. He couldn’t stop seeing the store worker’s face. Jon was a monster. With a detached sense of comedy, Jon wondered if that person would ever end up in London, if they’d ever give his statement, if Jon’s sinful act would ever be the fuel that drove someone else into becoming whatever he was. 

Gerry manifested next to Jon, hands in his pockets as he looked at Jon’s lost meal.

He said nothing and offered nothing, but acted as a reminder of everything Jon had to do. Gerry was every obligation he had unfulfilled, every reason Jon could not do what he so desperately wanted to do and put himself out of his own misery.

He collapsed like a dying star into sobs and heaves, heavy tears and snot streaking down his face. Gerard moved his hand over Jon’s back, rubbing circles that neither could feel, acting out comfort that Gerard could not give and Jon could not receive.

After over half an hour, Jon pulled himself up and shoved himself back into the car. Jon closed his eyes and pressed the back of his head to the car seat. He sucked air into empty lungs, trying to steady himself, to push himself forward, before starting up the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ch 2 is UP babeyyyy i was writing out the tws for this chapter and i realized 'this really is a fun fic isnt it :-)) /s' i promise u it gets marginally better. for a little bit. anyway! thank u all for the comments and shit, they were a delight to see :-D
> 
> also if u dig my shit, check out my friend's [band!](https://cadavercable.bandcamp.com/album/carbonated-soft-drink) he makes shit w similar vibes n i listen to his shit while writing


	3. CLEVELAND- Going To Cleveland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerry’s brow wrinkled. He swished words around in his mouth for a moment, letting the music play.
> 
> “Is this _Southwood Plantation Road_?” Gerry asked.
> 
> Jon shot him a look, shocked, “Yeah, it is.”
> 
> Gerry’s smile broke across his face, “I love this track, hell I love this album.”
> 
> Almost as soon as Gerry had finished, John Darnielle cut in, singing the opening line.
> 
> Gerry glanced at Jon, and joined in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter  
> -mention of vomit  
> -discussion of canonical abuse/neglect (jon's gma and gerry's mom)  
> -a lot of discussion about being a trans man and how toxic masculinity interacts w being trans

We both know you're leaving  
You just don't want to say it yet  
'Cause you don't want to hurt my feelings  
So you gnaw your little holes in the net

And you torture me with those big eyes  
And you punish me with pity  
But I'm going to Cleveland

You say you wanted to strike first  
Because one of us was leaving, that's what you say  
But I've always been real fond of you  
So I never would have treated you this way

And you torture me with those big eyes  
And you punish me with pity  
But I'm going to Cleveland

I hear the Cuyahoga calling  
Now I know what I was born for  
And you say "Hey John, where are you going?"  
But that's not my name anymore

And you torture me with those big eyes  
And you punish me with pity  
But I'm going to Cleveland

Going to Cleaveland

\-------

The Welcome To Ohio sign passed in a blue and red blur by the side of the road. A monument to empty land and corn fields.

“You called me Gerard when we met, even before I introduced myself.”

Jon startled, shaking half formed revelations about the size of America out of his head. “Yes, I did. I was familiar with you from statements.”

The car fell silent for several seconds until both Jon and Gerard tried to speak at the same time. 

“Was that, ah, weird?”

“What was I called in all the statements?”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t think you were still…” Jon trailed off moving his hand in an apologetic gesture.

Gerard snorted, “No it’s fine, it wasn’t weird. Sort of nice, actually.”

Jon nodded, “All the statements that named you used Gerard Keay.”

Gerard’s mouth sprung up into a bittersweet almost-smile. He mumbled something under his breath about Gertrude coming through in the end. Jon thought it was too private for him for clarification.

\-------

Jon saw the small rest stop on the horizon and pulled into its miniature parking lot without saying a word.

He looked at Gerard, and nodded once before getting out of the car and walking towards the bathroom. 

The world buzzed around him, every sound louder than it should have been, every light bright and blaring. He stumbled into the bathroom, relieved to see it was empty. Nothing but fluorescent lights, rows of urinals, off white tile, Jon, and his reflection.

His knees buckled as he reached the sink. Jon held himself up on straining arms, eyes glued to the drain at the bottom. He cupped his hands, bringing water to his mouth. He swished it around, trying to rid himself of the taste of vomit before spitting it out. He was reminded, vaguely, of bible studies of his youth. Pontius Pilate washed away his sins with a bowl of water. Jon took another desperate handful and wondered if that was what redemption tasted like. He remembered his freshman year of Uni, discovering himself, specifically discovering he might not have been the good catholic girl his grandmother raised. He found himself to be not catholic, not a girl, and certainly not good. 

He wondered if he could ever go back to the Church of his childhood. If the priest was still the same as he had been decades ago. He wondered if he could even walk into the confessional, if he could ask for redemption. If he was able to receive it.

With a strength he did not have, he dragged himself away from the sink and made eye contact with his reflection. 

He barely recognized the thing in the mirror. Was this the Archivist, he wondered? Sallow cheeks and hollow eyes, a face that was more the Eye’s then it was his. What a horrible cruelty, he thought, to rip his face away from him so soon after he had begun to recognize it as his own.

He spit another mouthful of water back into the sink and turned, avoiding the eyes of the two people milling around the rest stop.

\-------

Gerard cleared his throat. “You, uh,” he paused, looking nervous for the first time since Jon had met him, “are we friends?”

Jon moved his hands up and down the wheel, “Yeah, yes, I’d say we’re friends, after everything.”

“Right, well, nice.” Gerard said, nodding his head and looking elsewhere.

“Why do you ask?”

Gerard cleared his throat, “Well, uh, I always wanted my friends to call me Gerry.”

“Gerry?”

Gerard--No, Gerry-- nodded his head.

Jon smiled, small and private between the two of them, “I think it’s a lovely name, Gerry.”

Gerry tugged at his coat and smiled as well.

\-------

It was five hours into the drive that Jon started to have trouble breathing, the tightness around his chest becoming evident.

Sweat beaded on his brow, pressure laying thick on him. He couldn’t take off his binder. Gerry didn’t know. Gerry couldn’t know. Jon could feel the change in the air instantly. He could see how Gerry’s eyes would linger differently, how he’d search Jon’s face for the last clinging shreds of femininity. How he’d see Jon differently, how their little friendship would fracture and shift, unable to accommodate what Jon was. Gerry might say Jon was the same, might even try to believe it, but he’d never see Jon as anything more than the lingering touches of the girl Jon once was. He would no longer be a man to Gerry, no, he’d be something lesser, something lower, something--

“It’s not healthy to bind this long.”

Jon startled, pulled out his thoughts. “W-What?”

“I, uh,” Gerry scratched his earlobe, “I saw you had a binder on earlier and I think you should probably take it off after all this time.” 

Jon’s mouth went dry. Gerry saw his look of panic and quickly continued, “Oh, I’m-- Well, I, uh, I used to bind as well.” He ducked his head as he finished, pulling a hand through his hair.

“You did?” Jon asked, tone quivering.

Gerry nodded.

Jon wordlessly pulled the car over and crawled into the windowless back, quickly slipping off his shirt and wiggling through his binder. He mourned his lack of a sports bra, or of any kind of bra really, and had to make due with simply throwing his loose shirt back on. 

He sat back in the driver’s seat and took a deep breath, letting the freeing feeling linger. Jon rubbed the heel of his hand between his clothed breasts, trying to get rid of the slight soreness.

“I got top before, well, getting ghosted, but I still remember how much binding sucked.” Gerry said.

Jon nodded, stretching the muscles in his back and shoulders. “I’ve been on the waiting list for about three years now.” 

Gerry nodded as well, “I remember how long the waits were. After my mum passed, I just took the last bit of money I had and paid to get it done.”

Jon started the car, making a sound of agreement, thinking of how quickly money tended to leave him, constantly being sucked away by rent, bills, and, quite recently, first aid equipment. “I nearly did the same after Uni, but I never had the money to do it.”

“The one good thing my mother did for me was leave me some money after she ‘died’.”

Jon snorted in agreement.

“Do you know the tongue lashing I got when I got my name changed? For a woman without a physical throat she could shout real loud.”

Jon half laughed, in the morbid way only men standing on the familiar gallows could. “My grandmother refused to see me after I started to transition. I didn’t even learn she passed until I got a letter about her will a month after the funeral.”

“That’s harsh.”

“To be fair, I don’t know what I would have done if I was invited.”

Road and time rolled by below them in a car moving seventy five miles per hour across the interstate. Every mile brought them closer to the and every minute took them further from the remains of shattered families. A dance, back and forth, slowly becoming strangers to the people who were theoretically supported to know them best of all.

\-------

“We should eventually talk about the Unknowing.”

Jon nodded.

“We need a plan, how many assistants currently work at the-“

“No,” Jon shook his head, “We’re not involving the people at the Institute. I can’t do that.”

Gerry picked at a thread on his jeans as he thought of what to say. “Alright. No assistants.”

“Did-did Gertrude leave anything? Any plans or statements?”

Gerry fell silent for a moment, before a memory from the base of his skull began to stir. He turned to Jon, his grin devilish. “No statements, but she did leave a storage unit full of C4.”

“C4? Like explosives?” Jon asked, tone spiking into disbelief.

“Exactly. There isn’t a ritual in the world that C4 can’t solve! If you think there is, you just haven’t tried enough C4.”

“So what? We get all these explosives and what-- blow the Unknowing up?”

“Exactly! We’re going to reduce those clowns to smithereens.”

“And you think that will work?”

“I know it will.”

\-------

The road was quiet as they entered Cleveland. The city itself was noisy, people moving, cars going from place to place. The sounds of urban life. But the road itself, the inside of the stolen van that crept down the highway, was quiet.

“Do you have any music to play?” Gerry asked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I think I have something on my phone.” 

Jon pulled out his phone and slowed the van down to open his music app. 

As Jon’s music loaded, he had a horrible realization. Jon’s taste in music was obscure and had to be acquired. The ten Mountain Goats albums Jon had downloaded the night before his promotion glared back at him. Jon adored the Mountain Goats, he’d had multiple breakdowns while listening to the hard, rough guitar and reedy, emotional voice of John Darnielle. 

Jon also realized that the music could be a hard sell at first.

Goddamn it Jon, where are your punk albums? Why didn’t you download any of those, Jon thought.

“Actually, I don’t have any music.” 

“No, no, no, Sims, what’s on that phone of yours? You have something and I want to hear it.”

“It’s…” Gerry moved his hand in a go-on gesture. “Bad. I don’t think you’d like it.”

“Jon, play the music.”

Jon plugged in his phone and threw a more modern Mountain Goats album on. The music filled the car, a guitar beat that folded around Jon like a blanket. His shoulders sagged, comfortable in familiarity.

Gerry’s brow wrinkled. He swished words around in his mouth for a moment, letting the music play.

“Is this _Southwood Plantation Road_?” Gerry asked.

Jon shot him a look, shocked, “Yeah, it is.”

Gerry’s smile broke across his face, “I love this track, hell I love this album.”

Almost as soon as Gerry had finished, John Darnielle cut in, singing the opening line.

Gerry glanced at Jon, and joined in.

“You’ve got whatever’s left of me to get.”

Jon smiled, then Gerry leaned over, attempting to elbow Jon’s side although he was incorporeal.

Jon leaned away from Gerry’s elbow, before joining in as well.

“Our conversations are like minefields. No one’s found a safe way through one yet.”

Gerry cheered, singing along with both Jon and John. 

After the track ended, both Gerry and Jon began to sing when the next one started. They didn’t sound good, per say, and they didn't know all the words, and they stuttered over lines and stumbled over words every once in a while. But they sounded like themselves, like two men barreling from a painful past towards an unknown future, like two people with nothing but what was in the car and on the radio, like Jon and Gerry.

\-------

“Hey, look, you can see the Rock and Roll Home of Fame.” Gerry pointed to the black pyramid on the horizon. “I’ve always wanted to go sightseeing in these kinds of places.” He continued.

Jon flicked on the blinker and agreed, “I’ve never been much for that kind of thing, but I could see the appeal.”

“D’you know if there’s anything else really interesting in this city?”

“No, I’ll admit I don’t know much about American cities--”

“No, I mean can you Know if there’s anything going on.”

“Oh! Yes, I can try?”

Jon’s shoulders hunched and his eyebrows slanted inwards in concentration. 

“There is…. A witchcraft museum somewhere around here.” He said after several minutes.

“Huh, interesting. Wish we could stop.”

\-------

After all of _Tallahassee_ played through, Jon flipped on _Sunset Tree_. _Broom People_ began to fill the car. Gerry didn’t join in singing immediately, instead turning to Jon and saying, “This album always reminds me of my mother.”

“Do you want me to turn it off?” Jon asked immediately. 

“No, it's, well, it's not a bad kind of memory. Not really a good one either.”

“Just a complicated one?” Jon offered.

“Yeah.”

“It reminds me of my grandmother a little.” 

“I understand.” Gerry moved over and bumped an ethereal shoulder to Jon’s, “I don’t miss her at all, but I still get tied up in knots thinking about all of it. I wish she was better, I wish things had been better.”

Jon made a sound of agreement, “My grandmother wasn't, she didn’t hurt me, she wasn’t nearly that bad. But she was tired, and the house was…”

“Cold?”

“Yes.”

Gerry nodded, and Jon nodded as well. Jon leaned over a little, letting his shoulder phase through Gerry’s in a facsimile of touch. They both understood there was nothing they could do to change the other’s past, nothing they could do to change past coldness, but there could be warmth between the two of them.

“I’ve never really told anyone about my mother.”

“Would you like to?.” Jon asked, sincere. 

Gerry nodded, “I know what I look like. I’m six foot something and built broad. I’m a big guy, I’m intimidating. I took on this mantle of masculinity, and how am I supposed to talk about,” he waved a hand in the air, “all that?”

“Being abused doesn’t make you any less of a man.”

“I know and I believe that for anyone else, but it never seems to apply to myself.”

“I understand,” Jon said, “I’ll admit my own experiences are different, but being open, being what is thought of as ‘weak’, it feels like you’re less of a man.”

“Exactly. I’ve worked so hard to get here, admitting that- that all of that happened and affects me, feels like watching everything crumble away. Hell, she was a small woman and she was old when she had me. I towered over her at fourteen, but I was terrified of her,” Jon nodded, allowing Gerry to pour himself out, to release things that had built up behind his teeth for decades.

“For years I wanted her to love me and even after I realized she wouldn’t, I still stuck around. I still got books for her, still cooked meals for her, still helped her around the house, and I have no idea why.”

John Darinelle’s crooning voice rang out the lyrics to _Hast Thou Considered the Tetrapod_.

“Does it make me weak?” Gerry asked.

“No, absolutely not.” Jon reached over, aiming to put his hand on Gerry’s shoulder. They met eyes for a second when Jon’s hand went through Gerry’s body, gazes heavy with a comfort they could not give nor receive. Jon’s hand settled on Gerry’s page, rubbing slow circles into it with his thumb. Gerry couldn’t feel it, but the action caused phantom warmth to grow thick in his chest and climb up his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look. i know the song isnt *PERFECT* but i had to. i will not be using Going To Baltimore even tho i was thinking about it lol sahdjfsg

**Author's Note:**

> hey!!! its been a hot second hasnt it been! well anyway! im back! im gay! i love roadtrips! asdhfdb anyway i have most of this fic finished and will hopefully be updating every week. tysm to my bro Lew who helped me write the summary, it was a lifesaver (yall should go check out their fics bc theyre damn good) anyway! this is the weakest chapter in the fic bc i cant write action but i m p happy w how this chapter came out and any comments or kudos are deeply appreciated!!


End file.
